


The Weight of a Curse

by twilightstarr



Series: Broken Birds [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Angst With A Bittersweet Ending, Gen, Missing Scene, Post-Finale, Pre-Epilogue, Reyson and Leanne and Janaff appear briefly, Spoilers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-12 17:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17471966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstarr/pseuds/twilightstarr
Summary: Tibarn and Naesala have a bit of unfinished business.





	The Weight of a Curse

**Author's Note:**

> Feh banner hype motivated me to brush up on Tellius canon--and by that I mean I read most of the RD script in two days. Then this happened, because Tibarn swears Naesala will suffer as soon as he doesn't have other urgent things to worry about, and Naesala implies with Scrimir that he's prepared to accept that, then the game never delivers on that moment where Tibarn could follow through.

Once it was all over, and the chosen ones had emerged from the tower of guidance, the warriors rejoiced. The world as they knew it was saved, and the spirit of revelry possessed many people who had considered each other mere acquaintances or even enemies before the judgement to congratulate or even embrace each other like old friends. 

A true smile from Naesala nearly had Tibarn throwing an arm around him without thinking about it, but then he was reminded of the unfinished business they had set aside, the devastation awaiting him when he would return to Phoenicis. That damage was not something their victory here, however glorious, could repair. They weren’t friends again--if they ever had been. 

So instead Tibarn found himself grabbing Naesala by the chain clip. 

He was only surprised for an instant. Then the smile of triumph had the audacity to turn into his usual nonchalant _I don’t care what anyone thinks of me_ smirk. “I suppose I should have expected that.”

It only made Tibarn want to punch him even more. 

But there was a protest in the ancient language as Leanne approached, followed by Reyson. Leanne gripped Naesala, while Reyson laid a hand on Tibarn’s shoulder. 

“Tibarn, I understand, but please hold on a little longer. There is so much positive energy. Starting another fight could ruin this moment for the others and maybe even set off more conflicts.” There was a hardly suppressed tension in his voice. He was angry too, and yet it was still soothing, because he truly did understand and hadn't told Tibarn _not_ to punch him--just not _right now._

Reyson was right of course. Everyone had fought so courageously. They deserved their joy. He would not spoil this peace. When Tibarn let go, the chain’s pattern was indented into his skin. Then he turned away from the raven and seized the opportunity to pull the heron into his arms. 

They deliberately forgot about each other for the moment, and once the exhilaration wore off, everyone soon collapsed. 

They no longer existed in a vacuum of a world, after that day. Empress Sanaki had a country suddenly missing a few important figures to get into a new sense of order, and others had their own now unfrozen people to regroup. Then there were treaties to finalize while they were all here in Begnion before returning home. Janaff kept an eye on Naesala to make sure he didn’t slip away in the midst of it all. Reportedly, he surprisingly didn’t even attempt it. 

“He’s in the courtyard,” Janaff informed him that night. “He’s alone. It’s like he’s waiting for you.” 

How strange. 

If it were not a clear night with a mostly full moon, it might have been harder to spot a still raven in the dark. 

“Naesala. This is almost honorable of you.” 

“No use delaying the inevitable. I know you had Janaff following me.” He made no move to retreat as Tibarn came face to face with him. 

Finally, he let his fist fly into that face. Naesala flinched and staggered from the impact, but even still, he didn’t try to counter, transform, or flee. There was no resistance when he threw a knee into his gut either, and only the most instinctive aversion to falling when he toppled and pinned him in the grass. It wasn’t the struggle Tibarn had imagined, and that made it feel less satisfying. Why was he suddenly not a self-interested coward? If he was willing to face this alone, why not Begnion with his comrades? “Why?!” he demanded. 

Then he made a futile effort to move. “Let me have an arm.” 

“Why should I?” 

“So I can show you something.” 

“Answer me!” Tibarn ordered. 

“Do you want my word or the proof?” Naesala asked. 

It took a mind absorbed in rage a moment to process that this something was meant to be part of the answer. It did occur to Tibarn that this might be a trick, but, all the same, he needed to know. Besides, if it was, then then he would be justified in throwing more punches. 

He released the left arm, and then Naesala retrieved a small scroll from a pocket. “I never planned on telling you about this, but after what's happened… you should know.” 

Tibarn glared at him suspiciously. “You better not move,” he threatened before taking it. 

The letters inside had a slight red glow to them, sort of like a fire tome, making them a bit more legible in the low light. On first look, it appeared to be some sort of agreement between Begnion and Kilvas. “This is a contract?” 

“A blood contract,” he clarified, rising into a sitting position despite the warning. 

“Why in hell would you sign--?!” 

“Does that look like my name?” 

Tibarn glanced down at the dark red signature. No, that wasn’t Naesala’s. The parchment also felt rather old, now that he thought about it, and the date confirmed it. 

“These things get passed down,” he sighed as though it were a mere annoyance. “That was how Kilvas was retaken from Begnion.” 

“So it was your people or mine,” Tibarn realized. He’d assumed he'd been bribed, but no; he'd been threatened with the inexplicable and unstoppable deaths of his people. Had their positions been reversed--it was difficult to imagine choosing between two options so terrible, but Tibarn supposed he might have done the same thing. 

He looked back up at Naesala, who had turned his head away, making his face hard to read. “I’m sorry.” 

Something compelled Tibarn to reach for his chin and turn that face where he could see it. He tensed, likely expecting another attack. Those eyes still shied from his. 

The senator was already dead. Had Tibarn known all this earlier, he would have ensured he was the one to finish him, rather than letting Sothe do the honor. He needed an outlet, someone to tear apart on behalf of Phoenicis. 

Naesala winced and squirmed, and Tibarn realized his nails were digging into his skin. Naesala was right there in front of him, neck just below his fingertips. Surely, for something as essential as breath, he would fight until he couldn’t any longer. 

But when he looked at that face, he no longer saw treachery and apathy; he saw the weight of a curse. 

He summoned the will to pull his hand away. His fingers curled around the paper in his other hand instead, tearing a hole, and Naesala’s eyes darted toward the sound. 

“That isn't going to cause a problem, is it?” Tibarn asked with apprehension, not knowing all the details of how these things worked. 

“Oh, no. That needed to be done anyway.” 

Well then, that gave him an idea. If he couldn't have some _one_ , maybe some _thing_ could suffice.

Tibarn stood, then helped pull the bruised raven up.

“Oh,” he gasped, taken aback by it, and well, maybe Tibarn wasn't as gentle as he could have been. 

He held the pact out between them, his grip a bit off the middle of the top. “Together," he offered. 

For a second, he looked Tibarn in the eye, with a flash of a smile--another genuine one. Then he placed his hand accordingly. 

“One, two, three!”

Then they both pulled with all the force they could without unbalancing themselves. With their strength combined, never in all Tellius had one unfortunate piece of paper been so thoroughly, mercilessly overkilled. The sound of ripping was so short lived, they almost didn't hear it. Tibarn tore his half in half, and then those halves in half for good measure. 

“That felt good,” said Naesala. 

“It’ll have to do.” 

“Where does that leave us then?” he asked, with a slight shrug as though it didn't matter much. 

It did though. He wouldn't have put himself at Tibarn’s mercy to explain if it didn’t. “I don't want to kill you.” 

“Well, that's reassuring.” Sarcasm.

“That's all I know right now, alright? I need time.” 

“Fair enough.” Naesala rerolled his half of the pact.

Tibarn handed his pieces to him. He didn't know what he expected Naesala to do with them--just that he didn't want to see them again. Then he shifted form, spread his wings, and took off into the night sky as though he had somewhere to go.

Maybe he could tire himself enough to sleep tonight.


End file.
